| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde: Gwendolen!
CECILY. Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen.
ALGERNON. [Laughing.] Of course not! What could have put such an
idea into your pretty little head?
CECILY. Thank you. [Presenting her cheek to be kissed.] You may.
[ALGERNON kisses her.]
GWENDOLEN. I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew. The
gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon
Moncrieff.
CECILY. [Breaking away from ALGERNON.] Algernon Moncrieff! Oh!
[The two girls move towards each other and put their arms round
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne: of the stern-post, and with one wheel and some tackle to steer by.
But I can also make the Nautilus rise and sink, and sink and rise,
by a vertical movement by means of two inclined planes fastened to its sides,
opposite the centre of flotation, planes that move in every direction,
and that are worked by powerful levers from the interior.
If the planes are kept parallel with the boat, it moves horizontally.
If slanted, the Nautilus, according to this inclination, and under
the influence of the screw, either sinks diagonally or rises diagonally
as it suits me. And even if I wish to rise more quickly to the surface,
I ship the screw, and the pressure of the water causes the Nautilus
to rise vertically like a balloon filled with hydrogen."
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Paz by Honore de Balzac: they are themselves. If you see him rubbing his hands in the
courtyard, you may be sure he has traded away one good horse for a
better. He lives for me; his happiness is to see me elegant, in a
perfectly appointed equipage. The duties he takes upon himself are all
accomplished without fuss or emphasis. One evening I lost twenty
thousand francs at whist. 'What will Paz say?' thought I as I walked
home. Paz paid them to me, not without a sigh; but he never reproached
me, even by a look. But that sigh of his restrained me more than the
remonstrances of uncles, mothers, or wives could have done. 'Do you
regret the money?' I said to him. 'Not for you or me, no,' he replied;
'but I was thinking that twenty poor Poles could have lived a year on
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